How Kurt Hummel got to New York after all
by LunaLoveklaine
Summary: Carmen Tibideaux does not like to be disagreed with. Especially when it's about performing. So when she finds our that her secret favorite from her audition tour somehow not got accepted to her school, she's furious … And will change it.


_Just a quick little one-shot, because I'm still upset Kurt didn't get in ..._

* * *

Carmen Tibideaux was tired.

Not because she didn't sleep well enough, oh no – the opposite was the truth, to be honest, being such a prestigious and wanted alumni had its advantages – but because she was bored out of her mind.

She was tired of it all.

Of the freshmen who kept trying to rip off each other's heads even after they'd spent a whole year together, from the sophomores who kept whining that it was _so_ unfair to not let them perform in outside-school productions, from the juniors increasing laziness and from the graduates, constantly bugging her about her connections to Broadway and "_Carmen, can't you fix me something?..."_

Not to mention that the new class for fall 2012 seemed to be a bunch of slowpokes.

Carmen sighed as she walked through the hallways of NYADA, late for her appointment at the freshmen orientation, but who cared?

She shouldn't have given up Broadway for this school. _Job security,_ she'd thought. _Passing on the spark_. She rolled her eyes at her long forgotten good intentions back then when she'd accepted the offer.

Most of all, she missed the change. Waking up each morning, not knowing where she'd be at the end of the year – still doing the same old show, originating a role in a new one, touring Australia, shooting a pilot for something, _anything_. She missed the rush of late performance preparations, the sudden realization that a piece of costume was missing, the panic and the improvising and the creativity, and the _people_, those amazing people who were capable of so much more than simply learning a role and delivering it on stage every night.

Once, she'd hoped to help form performers like that at NYADA, but it was so difficult – applicants who showed creativity lacked greatly in the vocal range, talented performers could copy Streisand and LuPone and Peters flawlessly but were unable to do _anything_ original.

The kind of performers she had in mind ... well, let's just say, it didn't quite cover NYADA's profile of the ideal student. Carmen was able to change that a little bit, but she wasn't the only one overseeing auditions, she didn't pick the finalists and she didn't make the final choice. That was all up to the NYADA office department, management and bookkeeping robots who couldn't tell an H from a C and selected by some stupid credit system, not artistic impression.

She'd given up, eventually. From then on, she'd tried to maintain NYADA's high standards, only giving credit to the truly talented and driven performers, not the one with the soul or the heart or the vivid imagination. It was much easier.

But it was boring.

It felt like that, with every new year, there was less and less individuality amongst the students. They got more talented, too, but in a too polished, blend-in kind of way.

There was no excitement in the lectures, no surprising twist, only perfection.

Carmen considered quitting sometimes.

There were other times. Days, when she saw the students as the people they were, when they surprised her during auditions.

She felt never more alive than when flying through the country, looking for new talent.

But mostly she felt stuck with teaching, the theory dulling her mind beyond imagination.

So she wasn't exactly thrilled to meet the new class, as it meant another year of lecturing and giving tips on how to hold the high F properly, on a weekly schedule.

Carmen entered the room gracefully, as always, and every talking stopped immediately as she rose up in front of them at the podium.

Michael, the senior student who led the orientation, looked relieved that she'd finally arrived.

"Welcome at NYADA, everybody," she greeted them; "I am Carmen Tibideaux, Dean of Vocal Performance and your voice instructor this year. I have met a few of you already, and send out personal invitations to those of you who will be under my personal supervision the next four years. "

She noticed a short brunette in the first row clapping excitedly. Carmen remembered her vividly – the girl who'd choked, but showed so much ambition and determination that eventually, she'd given in and listened to her again.

So she'd be part of her class, apparently.

"We will meet up after the plenum, in the room across the hall," she added, before starting on her usual speech of the expectations and curriculum of NYADA, eager to get it done with.

Actually, she was excited to meet her new master class. She picked the applicants carefully she went to listen to personally, and usually, when they impressed her, she'd mark it on the credit sheet to make sure they'd end up in her care. She would not let talent go to waste, and this was at least one way she could single out the more special ones.

Carmen scanned the smaller group carefully when she'd gotten to the other room, trying to remember them.

The names faded quickly from her brains, but she remembered a guy who had pulled of a choreography with fire pois while singing, the choking girl of course, Dorothy-gone-bad, 'I can sing in a handstand, too!', little Hugh Goldpants Jackman ...

Wait.

"Where's goldpants?" she asked, narrowing her eyebrows.

The students exchanged confused looks.

"Is this a test to see if we're worthy?" The-lord-gave-me-a-wand-to-FLY asked nervously, and Carmen realized she'd asked it out loud.

Her eyes searched for the choking-girl.

"You're his friend, aren't you?" she asked, and the girl looked at her with wide eyes.

"Why isn't he here?"

She bit her lips anxiously.

"Kurt ... he, he didn't get in, he's still in Lima. He'll try again next year, I think?" she answered, seemingly puzzled.

Carmen stared at her.

Here's the thing: Carmen Tibideaux didn't care about her students half as much as performing, and she had stopped to care about their feelings and their reactions to rejection a long time ago, because an otherwise broken heart was no reason to get accepted into NYADA. But there were students that impressed her, that _convinced_ her. And those, she wanted to have in her master class, because they _deserved_ it.

And Goldpants whatever-his-real-name-was Jackman had been such a certain candidate that it seriously startled her that he _wasn't there_.

Sure, she didn't make the final calls, but she'd overseen the _audition_, for god's sake.

"Excuse me" she said abruptly, while the students still tried to figure out what was going on, "But I have to ask something. I'll be back soon, write yourself nametags meanwhile."

She turned on her heels and left, heading straight to the office.

_He was my damn first choice this year,_ she thought furiously. So fine, maybe it was more her hurt pride that apparently, her judgment hadn't counted, than her need to have him at NYADA that she was angry.

But it didn't make sense nevertheless.

She stormed into the office, the three assistants looking up in confusion, ready to ask about her matter of concern.

Carmen ignored them, forwarding right into principal Hirshwin's office, who showed even more astonishment upon her entry than the secretaries.

"I gave him a 49 out of 50!" she hissed darkly, crossing her arms right in front of him.

"What?"

"Goldpants! I mean ..." – she feverishly searched her brain – "Kurt Hummel. I haven't given someone a score as high as is since my first year doing auditions. He was _fabulous_."

The principal was still stuck in his stupor, unable to catch on. "What about it?"

"_He didn't get in."_

Hirshwin looked unsure. "So?"

Carmen rolled her eyes, something she surely wouldn't have done if she wasn't a highly acclaimed Broadway legend who could always find another job.

"This Hummel kid was one of the most talented applicants in _years_, and, quite frankly, I do not understand why he is not sitting in my class right now, since he'd kick anybody's butt in there. I _told_ him he killed it – I never tell anybody how they've done! I owed him this spot, and _he didn't get in_!"

She inhaled deeply.

"I think you owe me and explanation for that," she added more calmly.

Principal Hirshwin nodded slowly, his expression blank.

"I'll look for his papers" he said while getting up and walking to the door behind him that led to the archive, where they stored applicants' information.

Carmen tried to calm down herself completely while he was gone, thinking of the options they had.

So, choking-girl – Rachel Berry, she corrected herself, since it was of actual importance now – had said that he was still in Lima. Apparently thinking that he wasn't good enough for them.

Whatever the reason was they had denied him – because of it, he'd be stuck in Ohio for another year, and he _clearly_ did not belong there.

She felt a strange kind of responsibility towards him.

"So, Kurt Hummel ..." Hirshwin murmured when he came back in with a black folder.

Carmen raised her eyebrows expectantly when he sat down and spread the documents in front of him. She recognized the audition sheet from her, even the red mark in the upper right corner where she'd written down her desire to have him in her class. This usually guaranteed a spot at NYADA.

Yet, she patiently waited until the principal had seen through all the papers and looked up to her.

"I'm afraid his written application was lacking proof that he'd actually be able to stand on a stage on his own. There's only glee club as major reference, he's only had one supporting role in a school musical and nothing else. There was no reassurance for us that he's actually made to stand in front of crowds."

She snorted. "Apparently, you have no clue about show choir. Especially Ohio show choir. And that school."

"I'm sorry, Carmen, if this hurts your feelings ..." he started softly, but she interrupted him.

"This has _nothing_ to do with my feelings. This is a major miss-evaluation of this applicant's abilities. Trust me; he can stand on a stage, and in that environment? He's prepared."

"But one musical ..." Hirshwin tried again.

"I've done my research, August. While he's been on that school, there only _was_ one musical, everything else was cancelled. And do I need to remind you that not every role can be played by every talented actor? Community theater is a mess there as well."

The principal groaned and buried his head in his hands.

"I get it, Carmen. We made a mistake. But what do you expect me to do? Call him up and invite him over to join us? I doubt that's a viable option. Plus, our school is full. We can't just go ahead and add another spot just because ..."

"I don't care" she said harshly. "You have connections, don't you? Get him a remaining spot at Tisch, full-ride, with the offer to transfer to NYADA next year. _Something_. You go and fix this!"

He groaned again.

"Carmen, this isn't easy ..."

"I'm sure my friends would like to hear that story." It was low, pulling out her connections card like that, and for a brief moment, she wondered why she even did this for that kid, but it somehow felt like the right thing to do.

Hirshwin sighed. "I'll see what I can do," he gave in.

"I expect no less," she replied with a hard voice. "You give me results by the end of the week or I'll work for the competition in no time."

When she left, she couldn't help but smile.

Surely, there would be a way to get Kurt Hummel in her master class after all, even if he had to take his other courses at another school in New York.

She slowly went back to her class, feeling strangely satisfied of her accomplishment.

"Let's do this from the beginning," she told her students, smiling knowingly when her eyes met Rachel Berry's.

_You have no idea, girl,_ she thought, amused.

Carmen Tibideaux might not care about her students very much, but she did care about performers. And maybe, she thought as she chuckled over Dorothy-gone-bad's story about a homeless man in the zoo, this class wouldn't be so boring after all.

For once, she was wide awake.


End file.
